


I Always Believed in John Watson

by Henry_Sturges_to_Henry_Lincoln



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Henry_Sturges_to_Henry_Lincoln/pseuds/Henry_Sturges_to_Henry_Lincoln
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I believe in Sherlock Holmes" <br/>"I believe in John Watson"</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Always Believed in John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> A short one-shot before I do my chores x3   
> NOTE: Let's just say Mary and John *cough, cough* thankfully *cough, cough* never met in this little fic~

_I believe in Sherlock Holmes._

 

When Sherlock had returned, John made sure he knew that he had said it. That he had believed it. It always brought a smile to the detective's face when he thought about it. 

 

Or maybe the smile formed at the thought of everyday after Sherlock's return. The way John always tried to hold back his grins when their lips met, the way he giggled at every remotely-funny thing Sherlock said, the way John had Sherlock's hand the moment it was available, the way John's breath caught when Sherlock left kisses on his neck or grabbed his hips; Maybe even the way John looked when he slept; peaceful, tired, relieved. How did Sherlock ever leave this behind? 

 

Sherlock did his best to make it up to his doctor. Eating when John commanded it, getting up when John told him to, thinking before running into danger- everything that drove John nuts. Sherlock didn't mind it, really. He complained a whole lot, but it was all just talk. Because at the end of the day, when John laid his head on Sherlock's chest and let out that satisfied sigh, Sherlock rested easy. 

 

Though times weren't always good after Sherlock returned. 

 

The little fights and "domestics"- as Ms. Hudson would say- didn't count; if anything, Sherlock enjoyed those. John was so cute when he was mad. Those were always resolved when Sherlock stole a kiss and whispered apologies and "I love you"s against the medic's lips. No, it was one day in particular. The one day that Sherlock had never seen coming, the one day that destroyed his  _world._

 

They'd been on a case. Some man was abducting kids and women and killing them. It didn't take Sherlock long to pick up on the obvious traces, making him wonder what Lestrade would do without him. It hadn't happened for awhile, not since Sherlock swore to take better care of himself, but Sherlock and John ended up being confronted with the man himself and ended up chasing him all over, just like the old days. Something was a bit different this time, though. 

 

John and Sherlock split up when the man darted into a building. It was late, not many people there thankfully. And as Sherlock was searching, he heard a gun shot. Of course, he followed it, hoping John didn't just kill their guy. 

 

Sherlock did eventually find John. Their culprit definitely wasn't dead. 

 

Shaking the memories away, Sherlock smiled fondly down at the words before him, his heart breaking at the same time. He knelt before John's name and ran his lean fingers over the cold stone. "Lestrade told me I should stop thinking about you so much," Sherlock scoffed to himself, "ridiculous, isn't it? To ask me to stop thinking? You would never have done that." Sherlock's trailed off and he stared longingly at the cold stone. "I wish you could come back like I did." he whispered. 

 

Sherlock sat there for a long time, wishing over anything else that he could've saved him. Or that he hadn't seen the life drain from John's eyes, or the blood spilling out of the bullet wound, or hadn't heard John used his last breath to say "I love you". He just wished there was some sort of chance that John would come back, too. But he knew better than that. 

 

Sherlock sat there for at least two hours before it got too cold. He would've stayed longer, but he promised John he'd take care of himself even though he was gone now; that way, he wouldn't have to worry. He could rest in peace--finally. 

 

Sherlock pushed himself up, "I love you, ya know. I never said it enough. But I do." He paused, reeling in his emotions before he broke down. "John," he started, softer this time so he couldn't hear his own voice breaking, "I always believed in you. I always believed in John Watson." Sherlock smiled, tears he couldn't catch silently slipped down his cheeks. He thought about the way he believed in John's smile, his laugh, his face, his light- he had believed in John every single day. He always would. 

 

With a broken heart, he turned and started back to 221B Baker Street,  _their_ home. 

 

_I believe in John Watson._


End file.
